


The boy in the morning

by AwkwardTiming



Series: Boy in a Rock and Roll Band [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Kissing, M/M, New Relationship, Sherlock in a band, mostly porn with a bit of plot, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardTiming/pseuds/AwkwardTiming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the night before, Sherlock couldn't linger.<br/>But Sherlock was performing with NSY and John Watson had, well, not plans, but hopes.<br/>----<br/>Lestrade’s eyes flicked to something over Sherlock’s shoulder though and Sherlock turned his head to see what it was.<br/>It was John, standing just off stage and looking at Sherlock with enough heat that Sherlock’s mouth was suddenly dry.<br/>He felt a bottle of cold water pressed into his hand as Lestrade leaned over and said, quite clearly, in his ear, “You have ten minutes. Don’t be late.”<br/>Sherlock nodded absently and hopped off the stage.<br/>“Hey,” John said as he approached.<br/>Realising his mouth was still too dry to speak, Sherlock nodded, uncapping the water and taking a long gulp. He tracked the way John’s gaze slid down the length of his throat. He swallowed heavily and lowered the bottle.<br/>“John,” Sherlock said by way of greeting when they were as alone as they could be in a crowded bar, his own back to the wall as John stood in front of him.<br/>“Can I kiss you?” John asked.<br/>Sherlock felt his lips twitch. “I believe you have done so. Fairly recently even.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The boy in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to a story I posted just over a year ago. It can be read without reading that, if you like. Essentially, Sherlock sang with a band led by Lestrade when one of the members couldn't make it. While there, he met John. Happy fun times ensue.  
> Sherlock had plans the next morning with his parents.

John woke gradually the next morning, first noticing that the sheets were different.  Then noticing the distinct smell of sweat and sex in the air. Then the movement on the bed. He turned his head to see Sherlock, nearly dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his shoes on.

“Do you normally steal clothing?” John asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I’ll return it to Greg shortly.” Sherlock stood. “I… have to go. Greg said you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. He won’t be back until this afternoon. “

John sat up and shook his head. “Wait – where are you going?”

“Brunch with my parents. Greg conveniently asked me to grab a jacket for him. The car Mycroft is sending should be here momentarily to pick me up.”

John admired the sight of Sherlock, again in the jeans he’d worn the night before, now paired with a simple t-shirt that seemed a bit too big on him. When what Sherlock had said registered, he asked, “It’s 10 already?”

“Yes.”

“Christ. I should go. I’m supposed to be meeting someone at the pub at 11.”

“Oh. I apologize. I assumed – I would have woken you.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” John sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked up at Sherlock who seemed to be looking anywhere but at John. “Were you trying to sneak out?”

Sherlock flushed. “I…left a note.” He gestured to a piece of paper on top of John’s jeans, now folded and on Greg’s dresser. “I’ll just. Um.”

As Sherlock started to move away, John snagged him with a hand around his wrist. “Hey, wait.” Whatever else John might have said was cut off by a knock at the door.

“I have to go,” Sherlock said, shaking John off.

John let his hand flop back back into his lap, a confused frown on his face as he watched Sherlock make his way out of the flat.

At the door, Sherlock took a deep breath and opened it, expecting to see one of Mycroft’s usual drivers. Instead he found Anthea.

“Good morning,” she said, with a blandly pleasant smile.

Sherlock scowled, but without heat. “Morning. Did you volunteer or…?”

She just smiled. “We should go.”

Sherlock nodded, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. He realized he’d left his mobile in Greg’s flat the moment he did so. “One moment. I’ve left my mobile.”

He let himself back into the flat and saw John rushing down the hall, Sherlock’s phone in hand. John skidded to a halt and held the phone out to him. “Here, sorry. I was going to try to catch you.”

“I…yes. Thank you.” Sherlock took the phone and tucked it into his pocket.

They stared at each other a moment.

Sherlock glanced at the door. “I should go.”

Anthea poked her head in, “Coming, Sherlock?” she asked, throwing an appraising look at John.

Sherlock nodded. “Goodbye, John.”

Anthea waited until they were in her car to throw Sherlock a look. “Good night?” she asked, archly.

“None of your business.”

“He’s cute.”

“He’s straight.”

“Really? He seemed… interested.”

“An anomaly, I assure you.”

The flatness of his tone precluded continued conversation. He avoided a repeat with Mycroft by the simple expedient of avoiding his brother, quickly making his way to his own room and leaving Greg’s jacket on the coat tree in the hall. He showered, focusing on gathering himself back together. These monthly brunches with their parents were a trial at best.

His parents were lovely people, but they worried. And much though he might object to Mycroft’s occasionally ridiculous rules, it was worth it to be able to remain in London.

So. He had his most recent experiment at school. He had read the book his father recommended last month (trite, but long, plenty to talk about). Violin lessons were going well. He was still swimming with some regularity.

As he tied his shoes, Mycroft knocked on the door. “Ready?” he called.

Sherlock crossed to the door and opened it. “Yes.”

“I trust you slept well?”

Sherlock looked up. His brother’s tone gave away nothing and his face was nearly as inscrutable. There was, however, the faintest twitch that betrayed that Mycroft was well aware of where Sherlock had spent the night and with whom. “Yes,” Sherlock replied curtly.

Mycroft nodded, politely ignoring the way his brother had flushed, and headed for the stairs, Sherlock trailing behind him.

Sherlock avoided looking at his phone until later that evening, in an attempt to find some level of equanimity. He liked John – but that like was based on very limited interaction and a thorough appreciation of the other boy’s toned physique. And interest, positive personal interest, was generally flattering.

But Sherlock had had plenty of people interested in him for a bit of fun – and had enjoyed himself when the mood struck, but none of them left him with a desire to take them up on an offer of coffee. A coffee that Sherlock wasn’t sure was actually on offer. And he _cared_. He wanted John to be interested. Wanted to let John get to know him. Wanted to get to know John in ways that he hadn’t really ever wanted to get to know someone. To know the little, intimate things.

In short, Sherlock felt a bit shaken. So, he was practicing classic avoidance techniques.

Eventually, though, he did retrieve his phone from the drawer he’d shoved it in. There were notifications from various things and, buried at the bottom, a text from John.

JW: Thx 4 lst night. Had fun. See you around?

Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but as he sat there trying to figure out how to respond, he received a text from Lestrade.

GL: Everyone wants to know if you want to join us. In the band. Cleared with M.

SH: Why?

GL: You’re good? Gets you out of that house.

Sherlock tossed his phone in his hand, considering Lestrade’s suggestion or request or whatever that was. It would give him something to do that wasn’t school. London was absolutely better than being stuck with his parents, but Mycroft kept a close eye on him and it wouldn’t be terrible to have other people to talk to on occasion, even if they were a bit… dull. Lestrade at least was more interesting than most.

SH: Yeah, alright.

GL: Great! I’ll swing by on my way tomorrow and pick you up. Round 6.

Sherlock set his phone aside. John’s text didn’t really require much by way of response and it could wait a day or so. Perhaps if he played it cool, he’d feel some degree of detachment about the whole thing by the time he did reply. Distance giving perspective or some other pithy saying from his father.

It was Wednesday before Sherlock replied. He hadn’t intended to wait that long and yet may honestly have let it wait longer, save that he’d had an amazing time with NSY that evening and they’d asked him to come play at the weekend. Riding high on that success, he sent John a quick text.

SH: Playing Friday night with NSY

John’s response was immediate.

JW: Where?

SH: Same place. We go on at 10.

Sherlock waited for a response and when none was forthcoming, he went to bed. He wasn’t precisely tired, but he may as well think prone in his bed as sitting at his desk.

Around 1:30 that morning, he heard the faint buzz of an incoming text. He groped for his phone and squinted at the bright light of the screen when he read the message.

JW: Great. See you then.

Sherlock absolutely, definitely, certainly (probably) did _not_ feel his heart pound just a bit harder at the prospect of seeing John again.

\---

John arrived early on Friday and tucked himself into a corner. Clara had mentioned that Greg had told her about the show, but that she and Harry had plans and were going to be at Clara’s for the night. At which point Clara had winked and Harry had said that he should feel free to take full advantage of their empty flat with his booty call. John had turned red and gone to change.

After trying on several different things, he’d ended up in comfortable jeans and a heathered grey t-shirt that fit quite nicely on his biceps and across his chest. Sherlock had seemed to appreciate his appearance, so he figured he had a better chance of a second occurrence if he emphasized what Sherlock had liked before. He may have played it as cool as he was able in terms of texting Sherlock, but he had hopes. Maybe this time he’d manage to get Sherlock to agree to a proper date.

Tucked away as he was, John saw Sherlock before Sherlock saw him. He took the opportunity to take in the other boy. He was wearing the same jeans, John felt fairly certain. The fit was… good. It was good. They were cuffed again and paired with loafers. He wore a plain black t-shirt that hung right at the waist of his jeans and displayed pale flashes of skin every time Sherlock shifted. His hair was a mess of curls that had John itching to bury his fingers in them. John groaned to himself. This was going to be exquisite torture to watch.

Looking around while he waited for Lestrade to return, Sherlock caught John’s eye and gave him a nod. John felt his lips twitch in response. He stood and walked over, helping with the load in. As the band prepared to take the stage, John took advantage of the general distraction and the slight cover afforded by several bodies in a small space to press a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips before weaving his way through the crowd and back to the table he’d been sat at, which was still empty by some miracle.

Settled in, he watched NSY take the stage. There was a man he didn’t recognize and John assumed it was the member whose place Sherlock had taken the week before. Sherlock hesitated toward the back of the stage for a moment and John was struck with a sudden urge to climb onto the stage himself to protect Sherlock. He wasn’t entirely sure what he felt Sherlock needed protection from, but whatever it was, he wanted to be that protection. He shook his head to himself and focused in on what Lestrade was saying.

As it turned out, Lestrade was simply explaining that Sherlock had agreed to join the band as the lead singer and couldn’t everyone agree that was fucking phenomenal. John certainly did his best to cheer the loudest in agreement as Sherlock stepped forward with a half-smirk. His eyes met John’s and the look sent his way had John squirming in his seat.

By the time the first set wrapped, John was nearly feral with the need to pull Sherlock out of the bar and into the nearest semi-secluded alleyway. The rest of the bar seemed to feel the same. Apparently a week of practice had been all Sherlock needed to sound like he’d been doing this for years.

\-----

When he finished the last song of the first set, Sherlock’s whole body felt alive with the energy of it all. It was a greater high than anything else he’d ever felt, and that was saying something. He turned to say as much to Lestrade. Lestrade’s eyes flicked to something over Sherlock’s shoulder though and Sherlock turned his head to see what it was.

It was John, standing just off stage and looking at Sherlock with enough heat that Sherlock’s mouth was suddenly dry.

He felt a bottle of cold water pressed into his hand as Lestrade leaned over and said, quite clearly, in his ear, “You have ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

Sherlock nodded absently and hopped off the stage.

“Hey,” John said as he approached.

Realising his mouth was still too dry to speak, Sherlock nodded, uncapping the water and taking a long gulp. He tracked the way John’s gaze slid down the length of his throat. He swallowed heavily and lowered the bottle. With a jerk of his head, he indicated a hallway just off the stage and turned in that direction, hoping John would follow him. At the end was a stack of chairs with just enough of a gap between it and the wall that they would be more or less hidden for the duration of the break.

“John,” Sherlock said by way of greeting when they were as alone as they could be in a crowded bar, his own back to the wall as John stood in front of him. John grinned up at him and Sherlock wanted, more than anything, to remember that look. John looked at Sherlock like he was maybe a little bit amazing. Sherlock wanted to be more than a little bit amazing to John, but it was a start.

“Can I kiss you?” John asked.

Sherlock felt his lips twitch. “I believe you have done so. Fairly recently even.” He shifted his stance slightly, so that there was room between his feet for John to stand. The combination of leaning and feet apart making the difference in height negligible.

John shook his head with a grin and stepped forward, pressing Sherlock into the wall. He stood, staring at Sherlock for a long moment and Sherlock bit his lip, suddenly uncertain. Maybe he’d misread this. Last weekend, John had been eager. He’d seemed eager, standing at the edge of the stage, but maybe.

And then John’s lips were on his, eager, but somehow also careful. Sherlock hummed slightly into the kiss, at the warm press of lips against his own, at the way John’s body caged in his own. John brought a hand up to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck, his other resting on Sherlock’s waist, holding him in place. Sherlock brought his own arms up, looping them around John’s shoulders and giving in to the sensations and willingly setting aside the desire to catalogue every change in sensation and their kisses became sloppier and they started to rut against each other.

When John groaned and pulled his head away, Sherlock huffed and let his head flop back against the wall. John buried his head in Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock shivered slightly at the feeling of hot breath against his neck. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something only to be preempted by Lestrade’s voice.

“Sherlock, it’s time.”

“Coming,” Sherlock called back, flushing brightly at the huskiness in his voice. Lestrade laughed. Sherlock looked at John as John took a step back, adjusting himself as subtly as he was able.

“I’m going to just, wait a moment,” John said, then pressed his lips tight together, suppressing a grin.

“I’m going to be very uncomfortable on that stage, but at least these damn jeans should… mask the worst of it.” At least Sherlock hoped that the additional compression would help.

John’s eyes flicked down, then back to Sherlock’s face, then down again.

Before he could say anything, Sherlock stepped around him and made he way as quickly as he could back to the stage. Dimmock took one look at him, raised an eyebrow, then returned to looking at the audience that was starting to focus in on the stage again. Sherlock sent a quick thanks to the biology that chased off his erection in the face of relative strangers staring at him on a stage.

\-------

The next morning, John woke up warm and comfortable and it took him a moment to realise that the weight across his chest wasn’t an exceptionally heavy blanket, but Sherlock, sprawled octopus like, across him. John smiled and shifted slightly, tucking his head down to bury his nose in Sherlock’s wild curls. Sherlock’s arms tightened around him and John settled, in no hurry to leave the comfort of his bed.

As he lay there, he took stock. He was a bit sore, as Sherlock had warned him he likely would be, but John found himself eager to repeat the cause of that soreness, not avoid it.

After the performance, John had had every intention of dragging Sherlock straight back to his flat, but Lestrade had said something about everyone heading to Peppy’s again and John had found himself agreeing. Lestrade had given them a ride, then dropped them off at John’s afterward after confirming with Mycroft that Mycroft knew where and with whom Sherlock was staying.

John had tugged Sherlock down the hall to his room. He’d toed off his own shoes and Sherlock had done the same. John had pressed a kiss to his lips, unable to wait any longer, then pulled away, smiling as Sherlock tried to chase the pressure without opening his eyes.

Once Sherlock’s eyes opened, John asked, “How late can I keep you tomorrow?”

Sherlock blinked at him in confusion for a moment, then said, “I have practice at 7 with NSY.”

John smiled, “Perfect.” He’d tugged at the hem of Sherlock’s shirt, walking him backward until Sherlock was forced to sit on the edge of John’s bed. John pulled away long enough to tug Sherlock’s shirt off, then pulled his own over his head, tossing both aside before straddling Sherlock’s hips.

Knowing that he had the time to properly explore this time, John felt no rush and took full advantage of that. He explored Sherlock’s skin with his fingers, Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue. When he shifted to press his lips to Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock’s head tilted back to give him better access. When John tried to shift further back to kiss Sherlock’s chest, Sherlock helpfully flopped back onto the bed. John grinned into his skin.

He pressed an open mouthed kiss over Sherlock’s nipple before flicking his tongue against the rosy bud. Sherlock’s back arched sharply, the shift driving their hips together drawing a heavy groan from both. John had had a passing thought, earlier in the week, about maybe, eventually, finding out what it was like to have someone inside him. He’d had a girlfriend, once, who’d said it was the best feeling. It had been in the nebulous future at that point, but with Sherlock under him, John suddenly didn’t want to wait.

He kissed his way back up Sherlock’s neck, hovering over him. Sherlock’s hands were resting on John’s hips and John had one hand on either side of Sherlock’s head as he looked down. He pressed an opened mouthed kiss just below Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock made a pleased hum of a noise. John moved his lips to Sherlock’s ear and said, softly but clearly, “I’d like you in me this time.”

Sherlock stiffened and John pulled back, concerned. Sherlock was staring at him, eyes wide. “John?” Sherlock said after a long moment.

“You can say no, but I do.”

“I, uh.” Sherlock swallowed searching John’s face. “Are you sure?”

John ground his hips against Sherlock’s. “Oh yes.”

Sherlock surged up, flipping them, and proceeded to kiss John until John was gasping. Sherlock pulled away, making quick work of first John’s jeans and pants then his own. As Sherlock moved away to remove his own jeans, John had shifted on the bed, grabbing a condom and lube from the drawer by his bed. As he resettled against the pillows, Sherlock turned and stood staring at him for a moment, until John beckoned him forward with the tube and packet.

Sherlock had grinned and John had the absolute pleasure of watching Sherlock’s fluid form crawl up the bed. Sherlock had kissed him again, taking the lube and condom from him in the process, before settling himself between John’s spread thighs. He pressed a kiss to John’s hip and flipped open the cap and John felt himself stiffen.

Sherlock looked up at him, then frowned. “Have you done this before?” Seeing John’s face or perhaps remembering that John had said that he’d not ever been with another man, Sherlock clarified, “I mean by yourself. Have you, er, have you fingered yourself?”

John cleared his throat and focused on a spot just past Sherlock’s left shoulder. “I’ve, uh, thought about it?”

Sherlock hid a grin against John’s hip. John felt him nod and look up, so he looked back down. “It… it’s good, but it will feel a bit odd. It helps if you bear down.” Sherlock laid his head down on John’s hip, his free hand stroking lightly over John’s opposite side. “We should have talked about this before. I made some assumptions and shouldn’t have last time.”

“I’m clean,” John said.

Sherlock smiled. “That would be the assumption I made. I am as well.”

John nodded. He knew he probably shouldn’t accept Sherlock’s word, but there was something about Sherlock that he trusted.

“This next bit – if – when you do this with someone else. If you’re preparing them, gloves can be a good idea.”

“I have some in the loo, if you want.”

“I don’t, but thank you.” Sherlock shifted again, taking John’s cock into his mouth and John nearly pumped his hips up into the welcoming heat, catching himself and preventing it at the last moment. He felt Sherlock smile around him as he closed his eyes. Watching would mean risking things being over far sooner than he wanted them to be. The movement of Sherlock’s mouth and tongue proved to be so thorough a distraction, that John didn’t realise what Sherlock was doing until he felt the flex of a finger from the inside.

He groaned in pleasure. It felt. Christ, it felt _good_. And now that he was aware of it, he gave in to the urge to grind back. He wanted, he wanted, “More, fuck. Please. More.”

Sherlock pulled off and huffed out a laugh. John heard him open the lube again and shifted, spreading his legs slight farther apart. John felt the second finger at his entrance and drew in a sharp breath as Sherlock slowly breached the tight ring of muscles. His breath was panting out and sooner than he would have thought possible he was again struck with the urge to beg for more, so he did. He could hear the slick slide of Sherlock’s fingers and was surprised when Sherlock applied yet more lube before pressing forward with the third finger at the same time as he once again took John’s erection between his lips.

John knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t hear his own voice over the incessant _so good so good sogood_ in his head. He never wanted this to stop. He wanted more. He wanted.

“I want…Sherlock, I want,” John huffed out, utterly unable to articulate what it was that he wanted.

Sherlock pulled off with a pop and nodded. John mewled in displeasure as Sherlock removed his fingers. Leaning over the side of the bed to snag his own pants to wipe his fingers dry. John noticed, absently, that Sherlock’s hands shook slightly as he tried to open the condom. John wanted to kiss those fingers. The inside of Sherlock’s wrist. Everything really. He watched as Sherlock sheathed himself and applied more lube yet again.

Sherlock paused, lined up and ready at John’s entrance. “You’re sure.”

“Fuck yes,” John said, his voice hoarse.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, then pressed forward slightly. Despite how enjoyable he’d found Sherlock’s fingers, John felt himself tighten at the initial pressure. Sherlock ran a soothing hand along John’s side and John met Sherlock’s eyes and felt himself relax. Sherlock pressed forward and John groaned. It was. It was.

“So good,” John groaned.

Sherlock ducked his head down, burying it in John’s neck as he slowly sank the rest of the way into John’s body. He stayed like that and John realized after a moment that Sherlock was waiting for John to relax again, so he did, then he shifted, encouraging Sherlock to move. In slow, smooth strokes Sherlock did just that. Sooner than John would have thought possible, they’d built up a rhythm and John was growing desperate. The pressure was good, but just strange enough that he didn’t think he could –

Sherlock wrapped his hand around John, rubbing a slightly calloused thumb over the tip before sliding his hand up and down in counterpoint to his movements inside John. It was enough. It was _perfect_ and John found himself hurtling, unexpectedly, over the edge as Sherlock stroked him through it. Everything went white and fuzzy at the edges until the pressure on his softening cock became too much and he twitched away from Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock removed his hand and started to withdraw and John realized Sherlock was still completely hard and made a noise of protest, tightening his legs around Sherlock’s hips to hold him in place. Sherlock stilled and looked down at John, frowning a bit in confusion.

“Keep going,” John said.

“I…you’re going to be sore,” Sherlock said. “It might be too much.”

“Don’t care.”

“You might.”

John shook his head, tightening his legs further. “Then hurry.”

Sherlock groaned, burying his head in John’s neck again, taking John at his word. He took a couple gentle strokes until John had the wherewithal to thrust back and Sherlock took it as a queue to speed up.

Tilting his head so his lips were at Sherlock’s ear, John said, “Come on, Sherlock. Come for me.”

Sherlock groaned and John felt him stiffen. Muted by the condom though it was, John fancied he could still feel the pulse and heat of Sherlock’s climax and wondered, almost eagerly, what it would feel like without the thin rubber in place. He stroked his hands down Sherlock’s back as Sherlock shuddered above him.

Eventually Sherlock had rolled off, hand cleaned them both up, then crawled over John and tugged the blankets up over both of them. John smiled at the memory.

Nearly an hour later, John was rapidly becoming aware that he needed to go take care of certain biological needs. He tried to stay still a while longer, but his bladder was reminding him that he had actually had a bit to drink the night before.

Sherlock huffed against his chest and rolled off. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock said, “If you’re going to keep twitching about like that, we may as well get up.”

John sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Yes, might as well.” Sherlock stomach growled. “I can take you for breakfast.”

Sherlock’s eyes opened slightly, “That would be acceptable.”

“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” John said with a smile. Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement, shuffling down into his blankets further.

John assumed Sherlock had dozed back off and was surprised when the curtain opened a few minutes into his shower and Sherlock stepped in. He draped himself over John’s back and said, “Saving water.”

John laughed and turned them so that Sherlock was under the spray. He felt Sherlock straighten and assumed he was getting his hair wet. John finished rubbing the soap over himself and they switched places as took the soap from John’s hands and gave himself a quick once over. Then helpfully gave John a quick once over as well, until they were both giggling in the shower. The only thing that stopped it from progressing to something else was a perfectly time, mutual rumble of hunger.

John pulled away and shut off the water. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Sherlock nodded in reply. Sherlock snagged a towel and stepped out. John was glad he’d set out an extra when he’d started the water for his shower and tugged the other off the counter. Sherlock made his way back to John’s room and John quickly brushed his teeth. When he got back to his room, Sherlock had pulled on his jeans. As his pants were still crumpled on John’s floor, John had a suspicion Sherlock was wearing nothing underneath said jeans and did his best to ignore _that_ delightful idea.

What made his mouth go dry, though, was the realization that Sherlock had stolen not just one of John’s black vests but also John’s favourite jacket. It was a little too big and yet somehow perfect. In an effort to make sure they ate, John grabbed his own jeans and tugged them on, grabbed a plain black hooded sweatshirt and all but dragged Sherlock out of his room, out of the flat, and down the street to the café that had, in his own estimation, the best fry-up in easy walking distance.

\-------

They were nearly done eating when Sherlock’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced up at John who just smiled back, which Sherlock took as an ok to look at his phone. It was a text from Mycroft.

MH: Mummy is on her way to town. Can you be home in an hour.

SH: No.

MH: It wasn’t actually a question, Sherlock.

SH: I know.

SH: I’ll be there.

MH: Thank you.

Sherlock frowned down at his phone. He’d had plans for the rest of his day with John.

“Everything ok?” John asked.

“Yes, but I have to return home.”

“Now?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” He chewed at his lip for a moment, glaring at the screen of his phone as though the information would change. When it didn’t, he looked back up at John who was watching him. “I’m sorry.”

John shrugged. “I am too, but it’s alright, yeah? It’s a bit of a busy week for me, but maybe we can go out next weekend?”

“Yeah, I… yeah. That’d be. Good. That would be good.”

John smiled. “Best get on your way.”

“I’ll just get the check,” Sherlock said.

“Like hell you will. You had a piece of toast and coffee. I’ve got this. Plus, don’t want you to be late. Go.”

Sherlock hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. He turned back to the table at the last moment, glanced around quickly, then pressed a swift, barely-there kiss to John’s lips. John smiled up at him and Sherlock felt his own lips stretch into a smile in response before he turned and made his way out of the café. He could make it home before his mother arrived, but only just and only if he was very lucky at getting a taxi.

He was lucky, and in short order was settled into the back of a taxi making its way toward Mycroft’s townhouse. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out.

JW: If free 2nite, lmk. Could watch film. Or smthg.

SH: I’d take the or something.

JW: Cheeky. Want to have a proper date with you, you know.

SH: Overrated.

JW: See you soon, S

SH: Yes, John. I certainly hope so.

Sherlock smiled to himself in the back of the taxi as it sped toward home. Maybe the day wouldn’t be a total waste.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awkwardtiming. It's 100% random in terms of what I post, but if you don't like leaving comments here, feel free to let me know what you think there. I believe you can send it anonymously even.
> 
> Alternately, awkwardtiming@gmail.com
> 
> Hope you enjoy and, as ever, thank you ever so much for reading!
> 
> Have a lovely week!


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